


The Prince And The Angel

by MooseFeels



Series: Kept [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, Kept!Verse, frame story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's Story, the first part- A Prince Summits A Mountain</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince And The Angel

Once, long ago, there stood a kingdom in the border of the kingdom that stands here. At its center was a great palace with high walls and a great, domed roof. The kingdom was very prosperous, and it showed in the great art and beauty that was shown and seen at the palace- artisans from every corner of the kingdom came to show their wares to the prince. Pottery from the east, weaving from the west, paintings from the south, and from the mountainous land in the far north, there came words. Artisans came from all over to soothe the terrible loneliness that troubled their prince’s heart.

The prince was young and fair. He was the last of the royal line, the rest of his family taken from him in a fire long ago. He was patient, though, and he accepted the gifts all graciously. He was most transfixed, however, by the words that came from the mountains, so far north of him. He was amazed by the ice they held, by the delicacy of snow they could create, by the bluntness of swords they could call.

“Please,” the prince would always ask of the humble teller that the mountains had sent. “Please, teach me to speak- teach me to use words as you do.” The Prince had learned many things from the visiting artisans. He had learned pottery and weaving and painting, he had learned how clay or thread or paint could be taught to change light. So many things, he had learned, but the teller from the mountains would always shake their head (for it was a different one every time) and say, “We are sorry, your highness, but you must learn from the mountains yourself.”

It was said that the mountains in the kingdom were so high, they could talk to the angels of god himself, and it was at the top of one of these mountains that the prince went one day.

He went on his own, deep into the north of his own country, richly prepared for the troubles that lay ahead. He wore as he began to summit the mountain a coat of rich fur, a jacket of deep wool, and a shirt of silk. He was so warm inside of his rich wardrobe, he hardly felt the cold at all.

He was riding up the mountain atop his great steed, a white horse brought to him from a far off land, when he ran into a small house and a thin, poor family.

“Why are you so thin?” he asked. “You have land and a plow to till it. You have hands to gather in the grain.”

The father of the family bowed low. “My wife was sick with the last baby, so we sold our horse to pay for a doctor. Now we have no horse with which to plow our fields, lord. It is so cold we cannot break the soil ourselves, and with nothing left to sell to buy a horse, we will starve if not this winter than the next.”

The Prince looked at them and he nodded. He climbed down from his horse and gave to the man the reins. “Take my horse. If it does not plow, then sell it and buy a beast that will. Be prosperous.”

The father took the reins and said, “Be prosperous, your highness. May you find what you seek among the mountains.”

And the Prince was on his way.

He walked on through the woods and up the mountain, and though his feet were sore, his boots were sturdy and though it grew colder around him, his coat was thick.

He was walking when he ran into a great beast, naked and shivering, howling and crying.

“Beast,” the Prince asked. “Why do you cry so?”

“Hunters took my fur,” the beast wept. “Without it, I shall not survive the winter that is coming.”

The Prince shrugged out of his great fur coat and threw it over the beast. Within moments, the beast was once again whole.

“Thank you, my lord,” the beast said, and it was very large and quite mighty. “May you find what you seek among the mountains.”

“Be prosperous, beast,” the Prince said, and he was on his way.

As he continued to summit, it got colder and colder, but at least his boots were sturdy and his woolen jacket warm.

He was walking when he encountered a fox, barking and yipping and howling.

“Fox,” the Prince said. “Why do you howl so?”

“My kits,” the fox said. “It is cold in my den and they may freeze to death. This will be the third litter I will have given to the winter, and I mourn for them for their lives are so short that they may never see a spring.”

The Prince pulled off his woolen jacket and threw it down the den. The yipping and howling stopped and the fox said, “Thank you, kind sir. May you find what you seek among the mountains.”

“Be prosperous, fox,” the Prince said, and he was on his way.

It grew colder and colder around him, but at least the Prince still had his sturdy boots and his silk shirt to shield him from the cold. It was so cold that puffs of air began to be suspended before him like tufts of wool, and the Prince reached out to touch them, but they disappeared as soon as they came.

The Prince walked on, and soon he was very nearly to the top of the mountain when he came upon a rabbit, shivery and freezing, so cold it could not speak at all.

The Prince pulled off his silk shirt and wrapped the rabbit in it, and the rabbit soon warmed. “Thank you,” the rabbit said. “May you find what you seek among the mountains.”

“Be prosperous,” the Prince chattered, and he carried on.

He was so close, so close he could see the clear summit and the blasted heath all around- he was so near, but then he saw another journeyer, their feet twisted and bleeding beneath them.

The Prince was so very cold now, so cold he could not feel his skin or flesh or bones, just the numb ache where sensation once was. The Prince moved with numbed fingers to undo his laces and tugged with grinding joints to pull of his boots and give them to the journeyer.

And the Prince moved on, unrecognizable from whom he had been at the start of the mountain. His fine clothes and horse were gone. His boots were gone. His long brown hair was strewn across his face, a mess. His hazel eyes had grown cloudy, his skin was chapped. Once so tall, he stood stooped and cold. His voice once so sweet now broken by the wind.

He stood at the top of the mountain, so cold, and the journeyer asked him, “What is your name?”

Once, the Prince would have never given it. Names have power, have authority. Names can strip away what once was there and unmake. But the Prince, he had nothing left to lose, nothing but himself.

“Sam,” he answered. “My name is Sam.”


End file.
